Scary stories from a lovely place
Thanks to the sounds of Sufjan and the sights of Sydney we enjoyed last weekend. We were also blessed by two significant occurrences which, between you and me, felt like Christmas miracles.
On Christmas Eve we spent a lovely afternoon in Sydney city. Silas stared and stared at the slightly frightening moving puppets in the David Jones windows. We ate delicious cheese and tofu burgers. Silas tore it up in Hyde Park and the Botanic Gardens. From there we walked around past the Opera House and Circular Quay. And then it happened. Silas and Oisín fell asleep at the same time, in the pram, side by side. We enjoyed a peaceful, ice-cold Peroni on the steps of Customs House – surely one of my favourite buildings in Sydney.
On Christmas morning we reluctantly dragged ourselves to a church in Surry Hills. I’ve never been big on going to church at Holiday time – especially if I’m going somewhere as a once off. But Stephen’s stoic obedience has rubbed off on me. We walked from Goulburn street up through Surry Hills, to St Michael’s near Taylor Square. Considering our current malaise and specific confusion about church that we’ve been feeling for about a year or so, we weren’t expecting much. But it was amazing.
The minister was sincere and winsome. He showed us a carpeted area at the back, found us some toys and assured us not to worry about innocent baby noises. The sermon was gentle, provocative and pertinent. The people were a patchwork in every way. The music was rousing and good in a back to basics sort of way. It really was wonderful.
And – Silas and Oisín both feel asleep during the service, and stayed asleep until the end. Another Christmas miracle.